By Any Other Name
by wintergreen825
Summary: Magic comes in many forms. Family does as well. Harry Potter knows this better than anyone.


**Legal Disclaimer:** I own my stuff, but not the original source material. That belongs to whoever. Also, the opinions and interpretations I use here may not reflect the same in said whoever that owns the source material. Look, I'm just a poor college librarian. Suing me isn't going to get you anything but tears.

**Warning:** This work may be offensive to some readers. Feel free to back out if that's you.

**Author's Note:** This piece goes into details about the abuse that was only implied in canon. There's also a lot of internalized…well, _everything_ because Harry is only seven and doesn't know better than to trust his guardians to know everything about the world. So there's racism & ableism as well as the abuse that Harry believes as truth about himself. I know that this is going to be a hard read for some people. It was a hard write for me. Also, I'm sorry for the length. There's really not any good places to break it into chapters, even if the competition I'm in would accept chapters (they don't; I checked).

**Submitting Info:**  
**Stacked with:** Hogwarts (Term 10); MC4A  
**Individual Challenges:** Yellow Ribbon (Y); Yellow Ribbon Redux (N); Neurodivergent; Quiet Time; Ethnic & Present (Y); Sett to Destroy; Forehead Kisses  
**House:** Hufflepuff  
**Assignment No.:** Term 10 – Assignment 8  
**Representation(s):** Autistic Harry Potter; Deryn "Lark" Lowry & Holly Evans; Evanses; Child Abuse  
**Bonus Challenges: **placeholder; Second Verse (Ladylike; Not a Lamp; Persistence Still; White Dress); Chorus (Pear-Shaped; Wabi Sabi)  
**Tertiary Bonus Challenges:** T3 (Toad); SN (Rail; Negate)  
**Word Count:** 14,493

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**By Any Other Name**  
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Harry burst through the doors to the library. He didn't have time to revel in the sudden coolness against his skin after the sweltering heat that was currently baking Little Whinging. Harry knew that he had only a few minutes to find a hiding spot before Dudley followed. He could only hope that the fact that the library was full of _books_ would be enough to deter the older boy.

It would not stop the trouble that Harry would be in for leaving the playground area before Aunt Petunia could arrive, but what were a few days without food compared to the beating that he would receive from Dudley and his friends? Harry still had twinges in his back whenever he tried to sit up straight from the last time. It may have only been a month into this new game of his cousin's, but so far Harry hated it.

It did have its perks, though. Harry Hunting gave Harry a reason to run fast, something that Aunt Petunia _hated_ and that freaks weren't normally allowed to do. Harry loved the feel of wind on his face. The feel of his feet thudding against the payment only to push off against it was almost as good as that brief moment when he was suspended in the air. That moment was as close to flying as Harry could imagine getting.

Harry hurried across the atrium and into the shelves. Books became colorful smears as the boy pushed himself deeper into the library. He cut across aisles through gaps in the shelves. Harry knew from experiences over the last month that when one was hoping to lose someone one had to keep their trail as jagged as possible. Dudley was a very straight thinker and his larger weight made his slow to go around corners.

It was happenstance that he spotted the stairwell with as quickly as he was running.

Harry skidded to a stop. He peered down into the dimness, pondering the wisdom of hiding at the bottom. The overhead light flickered. This caused the shadows in the stairwell to move oddly. To Harry's young mind, the shadows appeared to be dancing.

He would never admit that out loud, however. Shadows don't dance; that wasn't _normal_. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were very particular about what was and was not normal. It was a well-known fact that the Dursleys were the very epitome of being normal while Harry was most certainly _not normal_.

Harry was a freak. Therefore, there were rules that Harry had to follow that Dudley did not; there were things that freaks didn't deserve as they were reserved to the people who were normal. Harry did not know what made him different from the Dursleys, though he did have his suspicions. After all, his skin was much darker than theirs, and Uncle Vernon did have specific things to say about foreigners. He also couldn't talk sometimes, and certain things bothered him more than they seemed to bother other people. Sometimes his body didn't work right, too, and he dropped things or knocked them over.

Tentatively, Harry crept closer to the stairwell. The air smelled a little funny. It was a bit like smoke, only this smell was…well, it was _prettier_. It reminded him of the little bit of woods at the edge of the park, particularly the spot that he thought of as _his_. Any hesitation that Harry may have felt about entering into the dark was soothed by that smell. He followed his nose into the shadows.

From above, the small boy could only see eleven steps before the shadows became too thick to pierce with his gaze. Therefore, his expectation was that the stairwell stopped, and if he were lucky, there would be a door. If he were really lucky then that door might even be unlocked. Three steps into the shadows, Harry knew that there were more steps than he had expected. This didn't surprise him; unexpected things often happened around him.

What surprised him was the fact that he could hear the faintest sound of some instrument strumming. There were also something tinkling and someone playing what sounded like the recorders that his class were learning to play. Throughout this tangle of sounds was a steady beat that reminded Harry of a heartbeat. The entire combination was unlike anything that he had ever heard in his almost seven years of life, but still, there was something familiar about it. That familiarity was what drew him forward through the lightening shadows even as everything except for beating heart slowed to a stop.

The bottom of the stairs did hold a doorway. There was a large room beyond it. There were desks and chairs, but someone had pushed them up against the wall by the door. _'Probably them,'_ Harry thought as he watched the small group of people who were doing something at the far end of the room.

Curiosity burned inside of Harry, demanding he know more about what they were doing. He tilted his head to the side as he listened to the music. As he inched into the room, he felt a humming in the air. The resulting tingle made him jerk to a stop just within the threshold. He bit his bottom lip.

He knew that feeling. It was the feeling that surrounded him when the unexpected things happen. It was around the people in the funny clothes who stopped and shook his hand as if he was important—_him_, the freak. If it had a name, Harry didn't know it. He did know that asking his aunt about it would earn him a week locked in his cupboard without food. Whatever this feeling was, it meant _bad things_.

And yet…

Harry ducked under the table. He had to know more about it. He had to get closer. Maybe if no one saw him, he wouldn't get in trouble. Careful not to make a noise, the young boy worked his way around chair legs until he was right beside a woman holding some kind of guitar and a man beating on a strange-looking drum with a stick that had what looked like a ball on the end. He watched the proceedings with rapt attention, drinking in the new knowledge.

"Oh, Mother," intoned the man in the center of the circle. Harry couldn't tell who the man was talking to. He had his eyes closed and his hands raised. There were another man and a woman kneeling before him, but the woman didn't look anywhere near old enough to be the speaker's mother. "We beseech You on behalf our sister and brother for the Greatest of Your blessings. Allow this woman to become a mother like You are. We promise to support her and any child with which she is blest, and to pass on knowledge of You Who Was First. May Your blessings be ever known to Your children and may we walk ever in Your presence."

"Blessed be," echoed all the others in the room. A fission went through Harry as the tingly feeling grew and twisted. He felt something that was just beyond his senses. It was like if he could turn his head fast enough, he might be able to see it or if he just listened close enough, he might hear it. It was _almost_ there but _not quite_.

Suddenly, Harry wanted nothing more than to finally understand that tingle. It was usually only inside of him. It would bubble inside of him whenever he was filled with a feeling. It would sometimes feel like a soothing touch as well, but that was only when he was badly hurt, like the time that he had dropped Aunt Petunia's finest gravy boat, breaking it and earning a shove off his stool onto the pieces from her.

Harry closed his eyes in an attempt to focus better on the feeling. He could hear the man thanking the guardians of the various directions and telling them that they may leave. His gratitude was repeated by the group. The tingling would spark after each dismissal and then dim just a bit. Deprived of his sight, Harry could now feel the gentle pulsing of it in perfect time with the steady beat of the drum beside him.

"We close this Circle," the man told his audience, seen and unseen, "but we carry its protection ever within us. We return to the world from Beyond with the knowledge that we are ever within our Mother's arms. Even as we separate, we are still One with Her and with each other. We close this Circle but remain a circle. Blessed be."

"Blessed be," copied the others. Instinctively, Harry mouthed the words with them. The man with the drum did three more times, much harder than before, and then he stopped completely. The energy tightened around Harry in a way that as frightening as it was comforting. Then it burst like a bubble. Harry could still feel it like a fine layer of dust upon his skin, but it was no longer as all-consuming as it had been just moments ago.

He kept his eyes closed, attempting to keep the feeling fresh and close. Harry could hear the people cleaning up the room. He knew that he should backtrack his way to the door and leave before he was caught. He didn't know what they were doing, but Harry couldn't help but feel that his aunt and uncle wouldn't approve of it. But he didn't want risk forgetting how good this had felt. He had so few good things.

"So," a voice asked, interrupting Harry's thoughts, "are you going to be coming out any time soon, little one?"

Immediately, Harry jerked backwards. His back screamed in pain as it hit a tangle of chair legs. He sucked in a hissing breath but managed to not make any other noise. Maybe if he was quiet, he wouldn't be noticed. No, it was too late for that if the shushing sound the woman was making was any indication. Harry cracked open an eye and peered through the gap between his raised arms.

"Tis okay, little one," the woman soothed, "no one's going to hurt you here. You're okay." Her voice held a lilting quality that reminded Harry of birdsong. Slowly, he lowered his arms to get a better look at her. "That's a love. Hello there, little one. See? No harm here."

Harry blinked at her. His head tilted to the side as he examined her. He had never before seen eyes like hers. They were the exact color of how Aunt Petunia liked her tea. Her hair also fascinated him. How could red and brown mix together so perfectly? It didn't make sense. The woman's lips quirked up in a smile that warmed something within his little body. At that moment, Harry was certain of the existence of angels. He was looking at one.

"You're very pretty," he told her, uncurling from the little ball in which his scrabbling had put him. Her smile grew wider. Before she could answer, a man crouched down beside her.

"Who are you talking to, Holly?"

The man looked in Harry's direction. Harry recognized the man who had played the drum. Upon seeing Harry, the man blinked, not once but three times in rapid succession. There was a moment of silence in which they both stared at each other. The man finally gave a slow grin and patted the angel on the shoulder.

"I'll get Lark and Sage."

"Thank you, Parsley."

With those words, the drummer rose and walked out of Harry's sight. Harry felt his panic from earlier threatening to return. He was in trouble. He knew it. These people were what Uncle Vernon called _weirdos,_ and weirdos were dangerous. Harry didn't know how, but that was what Uncle Vernon always said, so it must be true. Also, they were strangers which just compounded Harry's plight. Aunt Petunia _hated_ when he talked to strangers, even if they were supposed to good strangers like bobbies. This was because Harry was a nasty, ungrateful liar and couldn't help himself.

It felt like someone was squeezing his throat. He was breathing but only in desperate gasps. Harry wrapped his arms around himself. He squeezed his eyes shut. If he pretended really hard, it like someone was hugging him. He didn't deserve it—freaks never did—but he could pretend.

"It's okay, little one. Remember: no one here is going to hurt you. Can you take a deep breath for me?"

Harry struggled to obey. He had to be good. Maybe if he was good, they would release him to go back to the Dursleys. A couple of white bubbles popped against the blackness of his eyelids. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. What was wrong? This was worse than when his hair grew back after Aunt Petunia cut it so short and left him with only the fringe to cover his horrible scar. At least then he had the relief of not having to go to school like that to take the edge off of the fear.

Suddenly, Harry felt himself being pulled from his hideaway. Instead of fighting, he went limp. It didn't hurt as much when he didn't fight. It was usually over quicker as well. He braced himself for the first blow only to be pulled close to a warm body that smelled of flowers and that earthy smoke that had lured him here.

A hand pressed his head to lean against a firm shoulder. Harry trembled. What was happening? What was this? There was a soft thudding beneath his ear, like the drum from earlier. The hand on his head was slowly petting his hair like he was a cat. Between the motion and the sound, Harry felt himself relaxing. Breathing became easier. This was nice, almost as nice as the tingling feeling from when the man was talking to his mum.

"Hey," someone said above him. Harry felt another hand touch his back and the voice was closer. "Who's this little lovely then?"

"I noticed him after the rite," the angel told the other speaker. "He looked blissed as if he had gotten caught up in the circle, but when I tried to talk to him, Lark, he had a panic attack."

"Oh, poor ducky," Lark commiserated. The hand on his back began to rub in circles. It ached a bit but it felt nice as well. Against his better judgment, Harry decided to open his eyes to look at the newcomer. The woman who greeted him appeared older than even Mrs. Figg, who sometimes watched him when Aunt Petunia wanted him out from underfoot. She had a braid draped over one shoulder. It was the exact same color as the faucet to which the hosepipe connected. Harry didn't know how he would describe the eyes that crinkled at the corners in a kind smile. Were they green or were they gold like the clasp on Aunt Petunia's fine pearls—which he was not allowed to touch because he was a filthy freak and would taint them beyond cleaning? "Hello, little one. My name is Lark; what's yours?"

"B-Harry," he managed to stammer. Harry felt his face heat as he realized that he had nearly given the wrong name again. Aunt Petunia hated when he did that. It was a sign of how stupid he was, not being able to remember a simple thing like 'boy' not being his name. Lark looked at something over his head before focusing upon him once more.

"That's a very fine name. Is your mommy or daddy upstairs in the library, Harry?"

"My parents are dead, ma'am," Harry answered, making an effort to keep his voice from going flat. Aunt Petunia always said he was being cheeky when his voice went flat. "They were stupid and got themselves killed when I was a baby."

"I see," Lark said with another flick upwards of her gaze. Harry appreciated the break but it was starting to make him nervous. "Who do you live with, Harry?"

"I live with Aunt Petunia. She's not upstairs, though. She was at the play park."

"That's a good distance away, Harry," Lark replied. This time when her eyes turned upward, Harry leaned away from Holly to look as well. There was a man crouched behind Holly and he was huge. His teacher had told his class of the Vikings and shown them a picture. This man looked like that picture. After a moment of Harry silently examined him, the man stuck out his tongue. Immediately, Harry ducked his head back into the crook of Holly's shoulder. He heard a sigh and just knew he had done something wrong.

"Sorry," Harry whispered against Holly's collarbone. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, ducky," Lark said as she pressed a kiss against his temple. "You have not done anything wrong."

"But—" Harry stopped himself. Which would be worse: agreeing or disagreeing? He was a freak, therefore he couldn't do anything right. On the other hand, if he told her that, then he was arguing and there was no greater mistake he could make excepting talking about the Dursleys to strangers. His eyes got wide as he realized that he was already doing that.

"I need to go!" Harry tried to jump up, but Holly tightened her hold. He didn't try again. He had never been hugged before today and the idea of ending it, no matter how frightening, made his heart feel squeezed. He still had to leave—he knew that—but he wasn't going to try very hard yet. "I have to go—you don't understand!"

"Can you explain it, Harry?"

"I have to go," Harry insisted in response to Lark's question. "It's against the rules to talk to strangers, and I left the play park. I'm gonna be in so much trouble."

"Why did you wander from the play park, Harry? I'm sure your aunt will understand," Holly said.

"Dudley was chasing me," Harry replied instantly, "but that won't matter to Aunt Petunia."

"I don't know, Harry. That sounds like a good reason to run away to me," Lark countered. She tucked a strand of Harry's impossible hair behind one of his ears. As her cool fingers brushed over his scar, Harry felt the tingle again. He leaned into the soft touch. Distracted by the tingle, he spoke without thinking about what he was saying.

"I'm a freak. Freaks deserve to be punished."

Holly's arms tightened around him at the same moment that Harry realized what he had said. His eyes slid shut. _Stupid_. He was stupid. Could he go five minutes without breaking the rules? He ran away from the park even after Aunt Petunia had specifically told him to stay; he was talking about the Dursleys; and now he had mentioned that he was a freak to adults. They weren't just any adults either. They were adults who were _weirdos._ Harry wasn't supposed to talk to weirdos. That was against the rules and _dangerous_.

"Harry," Lark questioned gently, "is that something that your aunt says?"

"No, I'm a liar. I can't help myself because of my condition," Harry replied. He opened his eyes wide and did his best to keep in the tears that were threatening to spill. No crying; it was against the rules. He tried to stand up again with the same results as last time. Holly did allow him to shift around so that he was facing Lark, though. "I have to go. Please?"

"Where do you live, Harry? I can take you home in my car."

Harry gave Lark a suspicious look. Adults didn't make offers like that in Harry's experience. Lark looked sincere, but if Harry accepted her offer, Aunt Petunia would know that Harry had talked to a stranger and one that was a weirdo. He narrowed his eyes at her, examining the old woman critically. She seemed normal enough. The only thing that marked her as a weirdo was her star necklace. Harry relaxed. Maybe it would be okay to accept the ride.

"Number Four, Privet Drive," Harry answered finally. Beneath him, Holly stiffened involuntarily. Sensing her tension, Harry froze. The tingling swirled around them as it grew. Harry bit his bottom lip as he tried to will it away. _'Not here,' _he pleaded silently, _'not now.' _

"Harry, what's your aunt's last name?"

The question came from the Viking man behind Holly. Without turning to look, Harry frantically shook his head. He had broken enough rules already. He wasn't breaking that one. Something was already wrong. His freakishness was acting up, and now Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to stop. As nice as these people were, he didn't live with them. He lived with the Dursleys. It was getting harder to breathe again. _'Not here,' _Harry pleaded silently, _'not here.'_

"Sage, what's wrong?"

Harry didn't get to hear what Sage's answer to Lark's question was. The tingling feeling turned into a squeezing feeling. It felt like someone was trying to suck Harry through a straw. A plethora of colors edged with black smeared across his vision.

As suddenly as the feeling started, it released him. He barely heard the air rushing away from him over the pounding of his heart in his ears. Harry gasped for air with huge gulps. A sour taste coated his tongue in an almost furry texture. Altogether, the experience left his stomach twisting itself into knots. He was certain that if he had anything in his stomach, then he would have vomited. Never before had he been grateful for the fact that he was a freak and therefore didn't deserve to eat as much food as a normal person.

A car horn shook Harry out of his daze. Blurrily, he raised his eyes from the pavement beneath his knees to the estate car stopped a short distance away. He blinked rapidly and shook his head to clear the remaining fuzziness from his gaze. The auto honked again.

Harry forced himself to his feet. Gingerly, he moved over to the side of road. He had barely gotten out of the way before the vehicle moving again. As it drove past, Harry saw Mr. Conway from Number Six was driving.

Cecil Conway, who was sitting in the back, stuck his tongue out at Harry, not that he cared about what a friend of Dudley thought of him. All six boys were more stupid that Harry was and wasn't that something? The car splashed mud up onto the sidewalk, catching Harry's trainers and trousers. Harry despaired about what Aunt Petunia would say about that, on top of everything else that had happened today. At the rate he was going, he would be lucky to get out of his cupboard by the time school started in a month.

Harry recognized his surroundings. He was almost to the Dursleys'. If he went further down the alley, he would reach Wisteria Walk. Wisteria Walk met up with Privet Drive without any additional streets. Harry looked up at the orangey sky before taking off running as fast as his little legs would go. He hadn't realized that he had been in the library for such a long time. Maybe if he hurried, he could lessen his punishment.

By the time Harry arrived at Number Four, both his lungs and his legs felt like they were on fire. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon was home already. Harry's stomach felt like it held stones. Aunt Petunia was very strict, but Uncle Vernon tended to react very angrily when Harry made mistakes. Harry knew it was for his own good; his uncle was only trying to get the freakishness out of him. Harry just wished that it didn't hurt so much.

Franticly, Harry brushed off as much as the sprayed mud as possible, careful to make sure that it landed only in the grass and not on the front walk. He couldn't get it all, but every bit would help. As he worked, Harry chewed his bottom lip and worried. He really hoped that the weirdoes and Mr. Conway wouldn't share his disappearing act with his aunt and uncle. He wished that he hadn't told the weirdoes where he lived. He knew that there was not anything he could now, but he still regretted it.

Squaring his shoulders, Harry decided to face his punishment like a mighty warrior. He would be brave. He would be strong. Maybe this time would be successful. Quietly, he slipped inside of the house.

"Where have you been, boy? Your aunt has been worried sick," Uncle Vernon demanded as soon as the door closed behind him. Aunt Petunia, who Harry could see over his uncle's beefy shoulder, did not look relieved that Harry had been found. Instead, she had an expression that told Harry that she had been hoping that perhaps he had been kidnapped or had drowned in the stream that ran through the woods of the park. Overall, Harry decided that she looked as if she had been forced to swallow a whole lemon, rind and all.

"I-I was at the library," Harry admitted. "I got distracted—"

"My _floor_," Aunt Petunia screeched. Harry immediately dropped his gaze to the floor. He may have gotten the solid bits of mud off his trainers, but the muddy water that had soaked into them had been leaking from them onto the wood flooring of the front hall. Harry looked back up at his guardians with a nervous look. "My floor," Aunt Petunia cried again, her eyes still focused upon the muck.

"The Conways' car splashed me as they passed me," Harry offered weakly. This defense did not stop Aunt Petunia from elbowing her way past Uncle Vernon and shoving him back out the front door. For once not caring what the neighbors would hear, she demanded at the top of her lungs that he go around to the back garden. Then she slammed the door in his face.

"That's not so bad," Harry muttered to himself as he followed the path around the side of the house to the walled-off back area. Maybe she would make him sleep outside again. Harry cast a weather eye towards the sky. He decided that probably wouldn't be terrible. It might get a bit chilly really late, but Harry had been making a small stash of blankets and the hand-downs from Dudley that were no longer fit to be worn in the garden shed. So he would have a warm place to go.

His prediction turned out to be partially true. His aunt did make his sleep outside, but only after she had turned the hosepipe on him. For all that it was cold and Aunt Petunia used the hardest setting on the sprayer, Harry enjoyed the end result. His last chance to really wash up had been about a week prior and the summer heat had made him rather sweaty after he had done the weeding. It felt great to be clean again.

The next week and a half passed rather uneventfully. He had earned a session from Uncle Vernon when a friend of Dudley's had told his father, who in turn told Uncle Vernon, that Harry had flipped him the V sign. Harry had to stay in his cupboard for three days afterwards and inside the house for another two, during which Harry had felt very tingly. He didn't think he was completely healed though. His back still had a stretchy feeling whenever he was working in the sun ever since he had returned to his chores and sweat would make it sting.

Harry had a new chore as well. Aunt Petunia had been having him help with breakfast for a while, but it was usually mixing the dough for scones or fetching things for her. Now he was responsible for the eggs. The first day of doing this, Harry had touched his arm to the rim of frying pan, giving him an angry line that throbbed with his heartbeat. It was almost gone now, thanks to the tingle.

"Hello, Harry. Is your aunt home?"

Harry spun around from his weeding at the unexpected sound of the voice. His eyes opened wide as he took in the sight of Lark standing on the front walk of Number Four. After a moment of panic, Harry felt his shoulders slump in defeat. He was stupid, so stupid. She was here to tell Aunt Petunia about his freakishness. Of course, she was. Harry was stupid to have begun to believe that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would never get told that information. The look on Lark's face was sad resignation, as if she didn't want to but she had to tell Aunt Petunia about the disappearing. Of course, she had to tell that Harry still had the freakishness in him. How else would Uncle Vernon know that he needed to keep trying to get it out?

"Yes, ma'am," he answered politely as he stood up to lead her into the house. Harry wiped his hands on his shirt to get rid of the dirt so that he would not leave fingerprints on the door knob. He paused in the front hall. Anxiously, he asked Lark to wait by the door.

He walked into the dining room just as Dudley asked Aunt Petunia for another sandwich. Harry's stomach grumbled at the thought of food. He hadn't eaten anything since the cheese sandwich he had earned for dinner last night. He waited until Aunt Petunia was finished replying to Dudley's food demand before announcing that there was someone to visit her. Aunt Petunia glared at Harry contemptuously as if he had done something wrong. Admittedly, Harry was very prone to mistakes.

"Just a moment, Diddykins," Aunt Petunia cooed to her son as she checked the smoothness of her skirt and blouse. "Mummy has a guest. Why don't you stay in the kitchen while I see to them?"

She followed this with a pointed wave of her hand towards Harry. It was clearly an order for him to make the required sandwich. Harry began to obey as she swept through the doorway leading to the front hall. Harry had almost finished when he heard Aunt Petunia calling him into the parlor. Swallowing tears, Harry went to face the music. He just had to be brave; he had to be strong. Harry wished that he could be normal.

"Harry, darling," Aunt Petunia began, and Harry immediately knew that something strange was happening. The only other time that Aunt Petunia had called him that was when the lady from the school had visited after he had mentioned being a freak at school. She had come to talk to Aunt Petunia for a bit about Harry 'not fitting in with the other boys' among a lot of other things. That was when Harry had first learned of his _condition_, the one that made him lie without thinking about it. "This is Miss Lowry. She wants to talk to you for a bit."

"In private," Lark added. She smiled at Harry even as Aunt Petunia got the sour look on her face again. Aunt Petunia agreed and exited the room, leaving Harry alone with Lark. Lark settled herself upon the settee and patted the cushion next to her. Harry perched right on the edge of it, ready to jump up at any moment. "So, Harry, how are you today?"

"Fine, ma'am," Harry answered automatically. She nodded as if she expected this answer.

"Did you get in trouble last time I saw you?" Lark gave a wry smile. "You left very quickly."

"I…I'm sorry about that, ma'am. Sometimes I can't help my freakishness. I didn't mean to taint you with it, honest." Harry twisted his hands together. He bit his bottom lip as he watched her face to see how his apology was received. To his surprise, Harry felt her lightly touch his face, her thumb pulling the lip from beneath his teeth. Her strangely colored eyes looked sad.

"You didn't taint any of us, Harry," she told him quietly. "Accidents happen. No one was hurt by it. You didn't answer the question. Have you gotten in trouble since I've seen you?"

"I get in trouble a lot," Harry admitted. His eyes felt prickly as if he had tears gathering there. He turned his gaze towards her knees so that he didn't have to look her in the eyes.

"What happens when you get in trouble?"

The question was softly spoken, but Harry knew that it was a weighted one. If he answered honestly, Harry would get in trouble, but he didn't want to lie, not to Lark who was nice and had pretty eyes. He took a deep breath and clenched his hands together. Lark's hand shifted to rest on his arm. His breath hissed out as he flinched away from the weight on his burn. She caught hold of his hand, keeping him from moving far.

"Can I see, Harry? I just want to look."

Harry nodded without raising his gaze. He watched numbly as she carefully pushed the sleeve of his baggy shirt towards his elbow. The burn was a deep red and had a yellowish crust around the bright pink edges. Harry let out a relieved sigh. It was looking better than it had this morning when he had checked. Maybe it wouldn't leave a scar. Lark used her spare hand to force him to look her in the eyes again.

"When did this happen, Harry?"

"A couple of days ago," he told her honestly. "I burned myself when I was cooking the eggs. It was just an accident that I was too stupid to avoid. It looks better."

"I see," she replied carefully. "Did your aunt put anything on it?"

"Why would she do that?" Harry was genuinely confused. Lark's question didn't make sense. Medicine shouldn't be wasted upon freaks, not when a normal person could have used it. Besides, didn't Harry deserve it for not avoiding getting burned in the first place?

"I see," Lark repeated. Harry tilted his head to the side, examining her closely. He doubted that she understood that he was a freak and did not deserve the same things that a normal person did. Was that because she was a weirdo? She tucked a longish piece of hair behind his ear. He had to hold himself very still to avoid moving into the simple touch. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Just my back," Harry whispered, "but I deserved that."

"Really? What did you do?"

Harry had no answer that didn't sound like whining. Freaks weren't allowed to whine, particularly about something that a normal person did. That was against Aunt Petunia's rules. The fact that the situation came down to Malcolm's word against Harry's did not help matters. Harry had a _condition_ when it came to telling the truth. It was because of his mother drinking when she was pregnant with him, if he remembered correctly from what he had heard Aunt Petunia explaining to Mrs. Cole.

"I see," Lark said for a third time. Harry was really beginning to think that she didn't understand what those words meant. She seemed to be using them to vent some kind of anger. Was Harry not answering her questions correctly? He wasn't good with questions.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, hoping that the phrase would offset whatever he was doing to upset her. She gave a small sigh as if she was sad and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead. The prickly feeling came back as he caught onto her mood. "I really am; honest!"

"You aren't in trouble, Harry," Lark told him. Aunt Petunia had used the same trick to gain confessions from him, but for some reason, he believed Lark when she said it. Lark was the second person to ever be nice to him, with the angel being first. He didn't believe that Holly wanted to know him anymore, but Lark had sought him out at Privet Drive. "Can I see your back?"

Nodding, he stood and turned around so that his back was facing her. He didn't know why she wanted to see, but maybe he didn't have to understand. Adults always had reasons. No one had ever asked to see where he was hurt before Lark. Maybe she could make it stop stinging when he worked? As he felt his shirt being gently raised, Harry trembled. What if she decided that it was not enough? Would Lark tell Aunt Petunia that he needed another session? Lark said nothing more until he was once sitting beside her on the settee.

"Harry, would you like to come with me?"

"I don't think Aunt Petunia would let me. I haven't finished my chores."

"Do you have a lot of chores?"

"I have to earn my keep somehow," Harry reminded her. He was getting the idea that weirdoes didn't know what was normal. Lark was nice enough, but she seemed to be very uninformed if her questions were any indication. "I just do the dusting, vacuuming, and weeding. I am responsible for the scones for breakfast and tea, and now I cook the eggs. I'm really good now. I hardly burn them at all."

"What about your room? Don't you have keep it tidy?"

"No one else can fit in my cupboard. It's all mine." Harry felt himself swell a bit with that knowledge. He didn't have many things that were his alone. There was a tingly feeling just inside the door and Harry was the only person who could go past it. He had a couple of things stashed there for safe keeping. His name was written in careful letters on the back wall. A strange desire filled him, and he looked at Lark through his eyelashes. "Would you like to see?"

"I would love to see," Lark said. Harry bit his bottom lip again and gave her a sideways look. She sound like Dudley did when talking about his games. She was not as forceful, but there was still eagerness in her voice. She sounded like she actually meant what she had said. He swallowed hard and rubbed at his chest where it felt squeezed all of a sudden. Harry felt a tiny spark of hope that maybe he had a friend. He didn't care if she was a weirdo or a grownup. A friend is a friend, and Harry had never had one.

Harry reached for her hand, and he didn't care if it was his burned arm. He squeezed her hand in his little one. Knowing that if he waited any longer he would cry, Harry led her out of the parlor into the front hall. Lark lagged a bit as they bypassed the stairs that led to the second floor. Harry dropped her hand in order to work the lock that held the cupboard door closed. After the door was opened, Harry look back over his shoulder. Instantly, the blood drained from his face. Lark looked so angry. What had he done? What had he _done_?

"I'm sorry," he choked out through the tightness in his throat. He couldn't cry. It didn't matter if he had thought that she was a friend. That was a stupid thought anyway. Freaks didn't deserve friends, not even if the friend was a weirdo. It was not _natural_. He felt as if he was about to break into a million pieces and the only thing holding him together was his arms hugging him. His burn ached from being pressed against his chest, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care. Everything hurt. "I'm s-sorry."

"Harry," Lark muttered as she knelt in front of him. With gentle pressure, the aged lady pulled Harry against her torso. The warm feeling that Harry remembered from Holly holding him returned. It wasn't quite as nice, but in some way, it was also better. At least she didn't smell of old socks and cat litter like Mrs. Figg did, nor did Lark flutter about him like he was special. Harry let his forehead rest against Lark's shoulder, soaking up the warmth while he could. "Harry, I am not mad at you."

"Are you sure you don't want tea, Miss Lowry? My Dudley makes such delicious scones," Aunt Petunia called from the kitchen. Harry sprung away from Lark like a child about to be caught in the biscuit jar. He collided hard with the cracked door with a muffled moan of pain. Moments later, the thin woman was pushing through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the front hall. Her blue eyes took in the pair in the hallway with cool suspicion. "What's going on here?"

"Harry was just about to show me his room," Lark said politely as she stood. Harry stared at her to which she only smiled. "Weren't you, ducky?"

"You passed the stairs. All the bedrooms are upstairs," Aunt Petunia observed. There was a touch of panic in her voice. She gripped the door so hard her knuckles were white. Harry flinched away from the expression on her face. It was the swallowed lemon look again. That never boded well for him. "What has he told you? I shouldn't speak of it in front of him, but he has a _condition_."

"Oh?" The noise was softly spoken, but Harry felt a slight tingle in Lark's voice. It was like when the Viking had been asking his mother to give those people a child. Harry licked his lips as he pressed himself against the cupboard door even though the latch was digging into his back. Some secret voice inside him whispered that Lark was dangerous when she was angry. "What _condition_ would that be, Mrs. Dursley? His file was rather vague about it and failed to include any type of doctor's note."

"Harry, why don't you go outside while Miss Lowry and I have a discussion—"

"Please do not leave my sight, Harry. I want you to stay close to me for the next while."

Harry froze in the middle of a step. He looked between the two women who looked as if they were attempting to discover if looks could cut like knives. Aunt Petunia could hurt him, but she wouldn't until after Lark had left. On the other hand, Lark was a complete unknown. She seemed nice up until a few minutes ago. Then she got all mean and sharp-edged. Lark had also asked if Harry had wanted to go with her. Harry knew that his aunt would never consent, but it seemed like Lark may not give her a choice in the matter. He shot Aunt Petunia one last look before moving to the iron-haired woman's side and half hiding behind her thin form.

"You can't believe anything he says! He lies about everything."

"So that's not his bedroom?"

"Of course not," Aunt Petunia scoffed. "Who would make a child sleep in a cupboard?"

"So you won't mind if I look in it, just to be sure?"

"Yes! It's a terrible mess at the moment."

"Let's just see then," Lark announced and before Aunt Petunia could stop her, she had flung the door wide, revealing the cupboard's shabby contents. Harry's cot mostly filled the space, with only a small area in which Harry could stand. His head was still a couple of inches from the ceiling. It was hard to see the corners of the cupboard, but the sign against the far wall declared this to be Harry's room in the blocky letters that were taught in first form. "Well, someone has been sleeping in here."

"I don't know why you think that," Aunt Petunia blustered. "It's just a musty old cot that I've been telling Vernon to toss for ages."

"It has a blanket on it," Lark pointed out helpfully.

"It also has to go. Look," Aunt Petunia tried, this time making her voice inviting rather than shrill, "I don't know what he's told you, but the boy is a liar. He can't help himself. He just has an issue with reality. We're only doing what we can to make sure that he's not a danger to the neighborhood or our family. Surely there's nothing wrong with that, now is there?"

"He has a burn on his arm. Did you know anything about that, Mrs. Dursley?"

"Of course, I do," Aunt Petunia replied with a nervous laugh. "The boy was trying to help with breakfast. I've told him that little boys can't help several times, but he doesn't listen. He's more than a touch slow, if you catch my meaning."

"And his back? What happened there?"

"His back?" His aunt went pale and she looked like someone had pinched her cheeks. "He fell onto the azaleas during a scuffle with my Dudley. I know it looks nasty, but it really is no big deal."

"Harry," Lark said, turning towards him. He looked at her with wide eyes. Aunt Petunia was lying—just like Dudley did when he knew that he would get in trouble. Why would she do that? Harry deserved his session with Uncle Vernon…hadn't he? "Is that what happened?"

"No, ma'am," Harry responded honestly. He couldn't lie to Lark. She was too nice for that, even if she was being very, very scary at the moment. "Uncle Vernon gave me a session with the belt when Mr. Madden told him that Malcolm said I gave him the V sign. I told you. I deserved it."

"Harry, do you _earn_ these sessions with your uncle often?" Lark's question overrode the beginnings of a protest from Aunt Petunia. Harry glanced at his aunt. The little blossoms of red on her cheeks spoke of her anger. Harry swallowed hard in an attempt to remove the lump of fear in the back of his throat. "No, Harry, don't look at your aunt. In fact, let's pretend that she isn't there at all. Do you have sessions with your uncle often?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," Harry stuttered. Lark raised an eyebrow in question. "I can't do anything right because—_because_. Dudley and his friends also like to tell the grownups that I did things when I didn't and since I'm a—since they believe the other boys over me, I get in trouble."

"Why can't you do anything right, Harry?"

"I'm a—" Harry glanced at his aunt again. Lark brought his gaze back to hers with a sharp gesture with her first two fingers towards her eyes. Harry licked his lips. "It's because I'm a freak, ma'am."

"And why do you think that you are a freak, Harry?"

"I don't understand," Harry squeaked. He felt a fission pass through him in a cold wave. He shook his head, making his hair flopped around his face. "I am a freak. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always say so. It must be true. It's a secret, though; I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

"Harry, why don't you get a couple changes of clothes and put them in your school bag while I talk with your aunt?"

"He's not going anywhere," Aunt Petunia protested. "You can't take him. I _forbid_ it. If you remove him, I will ring the authorities for kidnapping. I ought to ring them now and have you removed for trespassing! Leave this instant!"

"By all means, please call the bobbies because I'm not leaving here without Harry," Lark declared, causing Harry to feel as if his heart had sprouted wings. Lark put one hand upon his shoulder and the other on her hip. "I'm sure that the police would be more than happy to arrest you pending formal charges from the magistrate. I assure you, Mrs. Dursley, there will be a full investigation into the happenings in this house."

"You can't do that! My husband and I are both upstanding members of this community. That would destroy our reputations."

"To be frank, Mrs. Dursley, I couldn't care less about the potential damage to your reputation. I have seen his back." Lark spat out the words as if they tasted horrid. Harry was frozen in awe. She was standing up to Aunt Petunia, and she was doing it for him. Maybe Lark was the angel instead of Holly. Maybe it was something about weirdoes. "I know what a leather belt does to skin. It looks completely different than a tumble into a hedge. Harry, go get your things."

"No," Aunt Petunia snapped immediately. "The boy came to us with nothing, and I won't have him stealing from us in order to enable him to run away. If you want to take him, fine; we're well shod of him. But he leaves the way he was left upon our doorstep like a bit of rubbish: with nothing but the clothes on his back."

"It's okay," Harry told Lark. "I didn't have much anyway. I can't be trusted with things and didn't deserve them in the first place." Lark brushed the hair off his forehead in response. Her fingers ghosted across his scar and again there was a tingling warmth that radiated through him from those three vivid lines.

"Okay," Lark finally agreed, despite sounding reluctant. "Why don't you wait outside for me, Harry? Mrs. Dursley, I would like to see your son before I go. Where is he?"

"Why do you want to see Dudley? I assure you that he's a normal boy, not like this scamp."

Harry didn't hear why Lark wanted to see Dudley. He had to close the door before Lark could answer Aunt Petunia. He didn't know where outside he was supposed to wait, so he decided to sit on the front step. Harry was just starting to contemplate trying to finish weeding when Lark stormed through the door and almost tripped over him. Immediately, he stood and followed her to the car parked at the curb in front of Number Four. She helped him into the front passenger seat before walking around to the other side.

"I'm going to take you to the hospital, Harry," Lark announced as she buckled her seatbelt. Those green-gold eyes cut towards him when he made the first noise of protest. After that, Harry shut his mouth and watched her drive. Lark was amazing. She stood up to Aunt Petunia without the slightest hint of fear. She had taken him from Number Four and now was taking him to the hospital. She did all this without mentioning how he was supposed to repay her. Maybe she would take him home with her and he would do his chores at her house.

The hospital's casualty, though rather full, was not as crowded as it was when Aunt Petunia had been forced to bring him with her because Dudley had fallen off the jungle gym at the play park. Aunt Petunia had not been able to foist Harry off on Mrs. Figg due to time constraints and thus had been forced to bring him along. Dudley had become bored within minutes of their rather lengthy wait, but Harry had been fascinated by all the people, which had helped keep the noises from hurting his head like they sometimes did. This time with Lark was not any different, despite the fact that the attendants seem to recognize Lark.

There was something that Harry realized as he listened to her converse with the nurses. All of them referred to his angel as either 'Deryn' or 'Lowry'. It occurred to the young boy that perhaps Lark was a secret name of his friend, a fact that made his heart swell with pride. Lark must be a superhero like the ones from Dudley's comic books. That made sense. If she went around saving children all the time, she would need a secret name to protect herself. This idea kept him occupied while Lark talked on the phone that the nurse handed her. Finally, she finished and took a clipboard with papers. They moved from the reception desk to a free couple of chairs near the double doors that Harry remembered as leading to the rooms where the doctors saw the sick and hurt people.

"Okay, Harry," Lark began, pulling a thin folder from her briefcase. She placed it beneath the clipboard. "I have some questions that I need to ask you. I want you to be as honest as possible, okay? I promise that you will not get in trouble for telling the truth, no matter what it is that you say. Do you understand?" Harry gave her a nod and she continued. "Your back is hurt. Can you tell me when that happened?"

"About a week ago," Harry answered after a moment's thought. "It was the day after I saw you in the library."

"What happened, Harry?"

"Malcolm—he's a friend of Dudley—told his dad that I gave him the V sign in the park. Mr. Madden told Uncle Vernon, who decided that I needed a session with the belt to learn my lesson."

"What did your uncle do with the belt?"

"He hit me with it," Harry replied, giving Lark a questioning look. She was writing down what they were both saying in quick but neat letters. Harry wished that he could write as fast as Lark could. Maybe then he could finish his homework before school.

"I know that the questions seemed odd, but they are important. Now did you receive any treatment for your back?"

"Of course not," Harry told her. At her questioning look, he continued, "Why would Aunt Petunia waste good medicine on me? Aren't I already enough of a burden?"

"Did your aunt or uncle tell you that?"

"Yes," Harry answered simply. Lark's dark eyebrows pulled together briefly before smoothing out as she worked through her confusion.

"I see," she stated as she made some more notes on the paper.

The nurse called them to go to the back shortly afterwards. The general check in went well, except for his flinching when the nurse attempted to pinch his cheek. His face heated with shame when the nurse gave him a sad look, calling him a poor dear. She told them that the doctor would be with them shortly before turning to leave. Lark stopped her with a request for a male nurse to which their nurse only nodded.

"Why do we need a man?" Harry dared ask the question only after the nurse was gone. Asking questions was against the rules at the Dursleys, but maybe Lark wouldn't mind if he kept the number of them down. Lark was already so very different from his aunt and uncle. He wondered again if that was because she was a weirdo.

"The doctor is going to need to treat your back, Harry. It wouldn't be right for a woman to help you undress."

"Oh," Harry accepted before falling silent. Lark gave him a look that he could not decipher exactly, like he was a puzzle. He decided if she wanted him to know, then she would tell him what she was thinking. It wasn't worth ruining his luck to pester her with questions like Dudley would Aunt Petunia.

"Do you have any questions, Harry? I know that this must seem very confusing to you."

Harry looked at her as he pondered how to answer that. She seemed sincere, but so did Aunt Petunia when she was being nice in front of her book club. Grownups didn't always make sense to him. Lark could be pretending, though Harry doubted it. Something about Lark just seemed so honest. Finally, he decided to venture a question.

"Are you a superhero?"

"What makes you think that?" Lark asked after a tinkling laugh at his question. Harry wasn't certain if her laughter was a good thing or not, but he decided that it didn't seem to be fake like Aunt Petunia's always did when he asked questions in front her friends. Maybe Lark would actually answer the question rather than deflect it like Aunt Petunia.

"You saved me," Harry stated, "and you have a secret name like Captain Britain does." He paused for a single thump of his heart before rushing to complete his list. "Whenever you touch me, there's a warm feeling. It's like the tingling I get from my freakishness, but it's not the same."

"Is that what your aunt and uncle call your abilities?" When Harry gave her a nod, she looked angry again. Harry swallowed and sat very still. Seeing his flinch, Lark took a deep breath and let it out as she made her face seem happy. Harry could tell that she was pretending, but he also knew that adults didn't like to be told that. "Harry, there is nothing wrong with having those abilities, but we can't mention them to the doctor, just like we can't talk about my secret name. I promise that I will explain later, but right now there isn't time. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied just as a knock sounded from the door. The man who poked his head through a second later was vaguely familiar to Harry. He also happened to be the darkest man that Harry had ever seen, with skin the color of rich garden soil. The light caught on his bald held, giving a twinkling glint.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Thomas," he announced as his body followed his head through the door. The introduction seemed to be more for Harry's sake than Lark's as Dr. Thomas gave the woman a nod of recognition. "What seems to be the issue today?"

"Harry has lacerations upon his back and a burn upon his right forearm," Lark said briskly. Dr. Thomas raised one of his nearly invisible eyebrows. Lark gave him a tiny nod. "I would also like a quick assessment and to make an appointment for a full physical within the next week."

"Did you already tell Hyacinth that you needed a male nurse?" He was interrupted by another knock on the door. A gangly intern entered a moment later. Dr. Thomas removed a folded bundle from a cabinet and placed it on the examination table next to Harry. "All right, Harry, down to the pants and cover up with the gown. We are all going to step outside while you do so. When you're ready, you can knock on the door and Mr. Lawrence and I will come back in to do the examination. Miss Lowry will be just down the hall. Do you have any questions?"

"Um," Harry started before having to stop to wet his lips. He felt his face burning again. "I don't have pants. All of Dudley's were too big and…even after washing they looked…" The adults shared a look between them. It made Harry nervous, so he rushed on to explain. "Dudley is bigger than I am, and Aunt Petunia said that they couldn't waste good money on buying me my own clothes when I was already so much of a burden."

"Harry, we'll talk about this more," Lark promised, "but for right now, are you comfortable being bare beneath the gown? We will come up with a remedy before we leave, for sure, but it would only be a small delay to find you some before the exam."

"I'm fine," Harry replied immediately. Lark looked doubtful, but she allowed herself to be led from the room for Harry to change. She did not return when Harry knocked on the door to let Dr. Thomas that he was ready and still had not by the time Dr. Thomas had started to pull out ointments to treat his back. The ointment stung in spots as it was applied, but it did not hurt nearly as much as the belt had, so that was fine with him. Dr. Thomas kept stopping to ask about how Harry was coping. Harry just repeated himself each time, even if he had just flinched and had to speak through clenched teeth. Dr. Thomas was careful around the spots that made Harry flinch, a fact for which Harry was thankful.

"Alright, champ," the doctor finally announced, "the back is all done. Let's see that arm." Harry was not looking forward to this part, but he obediently held out his arm. Dr. Thomas set about cleaning the crust off the edges of the burn. Though he was careful, the wound was sensitive enough that Harry had to bite his bottom lip to keep himself from giving voice to the resulting pain. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and focused on attempting to keep his breathing even.

"Um, Doc," the intern said before doing something that caused Dr. Thomas' hand to press down with a little more force than he had been using. Harry flinched as he let out a quiet whimper. He became conscious of something trickling down his chin. When his arm was released, Harry instinctively pulled it close to his chest to be protected.

"Harry? Champ," Dr. Thomas cajoled, "can you hear me? I need some kind of response, kiddo."

"Mm fine, s-sir," Harry managed. He couldn't get much volume, and Dr. Thomas had to ask Harry to repeat himself. "I'm fine, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"Harry, what's your favorite color?"

"I'm fine, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"Lawrence, could you ask Miss Lowry to come in here for a moment? Harry, I need you to focus on me. What's your favorite color?"

"I'm fine, sir. I'm sorry, sir." Harry felt a pair of cool hands on his shoulders. He raised both arms to cover his head which he had ducked toward them. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Shh, kiddo," Dr. Thomas soothed. "You're not in trouble. I just want to get you to focus, is all. You're not in trouble, champ. Can you tell me your favorite color?"

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated, barely swallowing a sob. Suddenly, the cold hands were gone, and he could dimly sense the doctor moving away from him. Replacing him was Lark's warm tingle. She gently pulled his arms away from his face which she then cupped in her hands. Her thumbs spread moisture as they stroked his cheekbones.

"Hey, ducky, can you hear me?"

"I'm sorry," Harry sobbed, finally losing his grip on his emotions. Lark pulled him close, letting his head rest against her shoulder. Without really looking, she wiped his face with the damp flannel that Dr. Thomas had handed her.

"I know, ducky," Lark rejoined. "I know, but you don't have to be. You're not in trouble."

"I'm not?"

"No, ducky, you're not."

"I think it will best if you stay, Deryn," Dr. Thomas suggested softly, "if you can."

"I should be able to do so. Would you okay with that, Harry?"

Harry nodded his head. He didn't know if they saw it, but he didn't want to move away from Lark. At the moment, he felt that she was the only thing holding him together, like he would blow away in the barest breeze. He didn't like this feeling. It left him shaky and cold.

He just wanted a hug like Dudley got whenever a thunderstorm passed through the town. Harry also wouldn't turn down one of the chocolates that his cousin got at those times. His stomach gave an empty gurgle. Lark gently pushed him to arm's length to look him in the eye.

"Harry, are you hungry?"

"No, ma'am, I'm fine."

"That was a very quick answer. When was the last time you had something to eat?"

"Deryn," Dr. Thomas questioned. Harry felt one of Lark's hands leave his shoulder to stop whatever he was going to say further. The gold in her eyes seemed to spark.

"Harry, please answer the question."

"Last night, ma'am," Harry whispered. She looked angry again, so Harry rushed onward to explain. "I can normally snitch a bit of the scone batter at breakfast, but Aunt Petunia was watching me really closely today, so I couldn't."

"What about lunch?"

"I didn't earn it today. I wasn't quick enough with the dusting this morning."

"Harry, children don't have to earn food."

"I'm not a child. I'm a—you know what."

"Okay," Lark compromised in a tone that said she was only letting the matter drop for the moment. "What did you have for dinner?"

"A cheese sandwich."

"Describe it to me, please."

"It was a cheese sandwich—a slice of cheese in a folded slice of bread. I don't understand."

"Before that what was the last thing you had to eat, _besides_ stolen bits here and there."

"Um," Harry stalled as he thought. Did he eat the day he had gotten out of the cupboard after his punishment? Lark growled, _actually growled_. He flinched away with a muttered apology which seemed to act as water to the flames of her ire. She patted his arms before tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Harry, ducky, I need to make a phone call that has suddenly become very urgent. Dr. Thomas will finish up your arm. If it hurts, I want you to tell him. I will be back in less than fifteen minutes. Will you be okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry agreed promptly and without truly understanding why Lark was asking him to do so.

"In light of his diet, I would recommend an overnight stay before placement," Dr. Thomas told Lark as she headed towards the door. "It would be just as a precaution."

"I'll get approval," Lark informed him before disappearing through the door.

Dr. Thomas went back cleaning Harry's burn. Despite what Lark had told him to do, Harry didn't say anything about the steadily increasing ache from the procedure. When the doctor covered it with some gel that smelled like the wintergreen in Mrs. Figg's garden, Harry felt like he had been justified. The sweet-scented ointment's chill left his arm feeling thick but free from pain. Instead of wrapping Harry's arm with gauze, Dr. Thomas slid a netted sleeve over it.

"There you go, champ," he announced once he was finished. Harry looked up from his arm to the doctor's face. He didn't look like he was easily angered, but Uncle Vernon had some rather vehement things to say about black people, even more than he had to say about foreigners. Uncle Vernon also had a lot to say about weirdoes as well, but Lark had done none of the things that he had attributed to them and she was one. Harry decided to risk a few questions.

"What was that gel?"

"It was a menthol gel. It helps with burns and infections. Burns can be very nasty to treat. That's why it is always best to have a medical professional take a look at them."

"Why are burns so nasty?"

"Because they are more severe," Dr. Thomas answered easily. He smiled down at the little boy. Harry was struck by how white his teeth were. "When you cut yourself, your body heals it easily, but a burn is like cooking a portion of your skin."

"Is that why it hurt so bad?"

"Sure is, champ; Burns, particularly the kind like you have, hurt the skin, which has a lot of nerves in it. Nerves are what let your arm tell your brain what to feel. Pain is your body saying that something is wrong. Now, I'm going check on getting you admitted. Lawrence is going to stay with you until your caseworker gets back."

"Caseworker?"

"You didn't know? Miss Lowry is with Social Services." Dr. Thomas shared a look with the intern. Harry swallowed his initial urge to panic. Uncle Vernon said that they did horrible things to children, but Lark wouldn't do that, would she? Lark was a superhero.

"She rescued me," Harry thought aloud. Dr. Thomas chuckled. Harry looked at the man suspiciously. "She did, and she stood up to Aunt Petunia for me. She was nice to me. She can't be—Uncle Vernon said that they sell children to the highest bidder for unmentionable things."

"Lawrence, can you go tell Beatrice that I would like a room in Pediatrics?" After the intern left, Dr. Thomas sat down on the stool and looked in Harry's eyes. Harry noticed that while Dr. Thomas' eyes were very dark, they were brown, not black. The color made Harry think of the bark on the trees in the play park after a rain. It was a good thought. "Did your uncle mention what those unmentionable things were, Harry?"

"No," Harry admitted, "but he did say they would be worse than anything he could do to me."

"What did he do?"

"Telling would be against the rules."

"I promise I won't tell him that you broke the rules."

"That's a pie crust promise, sir."

"Mary Poppins, eh?"

"Aunt Marge bought it for Dudley. He only gets to watch it when she's around. Aunt Petunia gets her lemon face anytime he asks."

"Okay, champ," Dr. Thomas compromised. He glanced towards the door before turning back to Harry. "I'm going to share a secret with you. Do you understand?" Harry gave a solemn nod. The doctor pulled out a pendant from inside his shirt. At the sight of the silver disk etched with an interwoven star in black, Harry felt something inside of him relax. Dr. Thomas was a weirdo like Lark. Harry looked from the star to Dr. Thomas' anxious eyes. They both smiled. "This is the sign of my faith. A promise on this is a sacred promise, a promise to my god and goddess. I promise that I won't tell your Uncle Vernon anything that you tell me. As I promise, so mote it be."

Harry felt a whirling spark burst out from the man. Without thinking, the little boy reached out a hand and touched the shiny metal. It was warm, as he had been expecting, but it also sent a tingle through his fingers. Harry's smile grew so much that the width of it hurt his face a little. He was becoming convinced, more with each weirdo that he met, that being a weirdo was an honor, not a detriment. First Lark was nice, and now Dr. Thomas could make things tingle like Harry could.

"I like weirdoes," Harry commented happily, "and I don't care what Uncle Vernon says about them. Every one of you that I've met has been really nice. None has tried to kill me or do _unmentionable things_ to me."

"What does your uncle say is a weirdo?"

"The people who aren't normal and don't want to be," Harry relayed easily. He grew serious as he remembered his uncle's words. "They are dangerous, especially to decent, normal people. I don't think they contaminate normal people, not like freaks do. Weirdoes are also good for nothing and a drain on society."

"You said you met some," Dr. Thomas remarked. Harry nodded at him.

"Last week, I met Miss Lowry. She was with a Viking and an angel. None of them hurt me—in fact, the angel hugged me—_me_, the freak. I think I scared her away, but Miss Lowry came for me. She rescued me. She's a superhero, but I'm not supposed to say anything."

Whatever Dr. Thomas was about to say was cut off by the return of Lawrence and Lark. Conversation shifted topics from the past to the present. The next hour sped by in a whirlwind of activity as Harry was moved up to the fourth floor where the other kids were staying. The ride up in the elevator was tense as no one would let him walk and Harry hated the idea of giving anyone extra work.

Once Harry was situated in his room, a nurse brought in a sandwich and a carton of milk. There was even a small bowl of custard on it. He looked nervously between the nurse, Lark, and the tray. Lark nodded at him as the nurse placed the tray on a side table that wheeled into position. It smelled so good. He hesitated a moment longer, expecting the feast to be taken from him. When neither adult made any motion to do so, Harry tucked in with great speed. He slowed only a bit to savor the milk.

Harry had never had milk with a meal. Dudley had milk with every meal and snack up until halfway through school last year when Piers Polkiss convinced him that drinking milk was for babies. Harry didn't care if it was for babies. It tasted great with the chicken and cheese that was on the sandwich. Feeling a bit like a cat, he licked at his upper lip for the excess milk that had gathered there.

He was just reaching for the custard when the nurse knocked on the door again, asking for Lark to come with her a moment. Harry watched with anxious eyes as his hero left him. He stirred the thick pudding a few times, no longer hungry. As a couple minutes turned into five and then ten, Harry's foreboding grew. Maybe his uncle had decided to come get him after getting home from work. He stared gloomily into the creamy treat.

"Harry, I would like you to meet someone," Lark said in the doorway. Harry's head snapped up immediately. The older lady looked and sounded calm, but he could feel the tension radiating from her like light from a candle. His back straightened as he attempted to relieve the ache starting in between his shoulders. Meeting someone was much better than his uncle coming to take him back to the Dursleys. Harry gave her a nod. Lark gave someone who Harry couldn't see a nod and moved into the hospital room. "Harry, I would like to introduce Chrys Evans and his wife Holly."

Harry felt his mouth drop open at the sight of the couple standing in the doorway. They looked just as they had a week and a half ago when he had first seen them in the library. Seeing them standing up, Harry was struck by the difference in their heights. Holly, his angel, only came up to the Viking's armpit. The Viking had to be taller than the bobby who came to talk to Harry's class.

"Hi," Harry squeaked as they came closer. Holly settled at the foot of the bed, her slim body turned towards Harry. The Viking stood behind her with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his denims. He was glad of the table that separated them. Harry didn't know how they felt about his freakishness. They had come back, just as Lark had, but he didn't need saving any more. Lark had done that.

"Harry, we need to know how much you understand about what is happening," Lark said once everyone was settled. Holly looked up at Chrys' face for a brief moment, watching him staring at Harry like he had never before seen the boy. Harry tilted his head to the side as he looked at the pair. Then he looked back at Lark.

"I don't understand," Harry offered quietly. He eyed the hand that Chrys had on Holly's shoulder. He didn't like how the knuckles were white. He knew just how much a squeezed shoulder hurt.

"Harry, I'm with Social Services," Lark gently announced. Harry didn't look at her. Instead he was keeping his eye on Chrys' hand. "After meeting you, the Evanses decided to file a complaint with my office. They had concerns about your treatment at the Dursleys, particularly after you demonstrated your gift. How much do you know about your mother, Harry?"

"I know that she was Aunt Petunia's sister," Harry answered. He hesitated for a beat and then decided to just say the rest. "She and my father died in a car wreck. They were driving drunk because that's how they were most of the time. She was a dirty slag who got herself in trouble and she was lucky that my father did the right thing and married her."

"Lily was _not_," Chrys growled, "a slag, dirty or otherwise."

"Who's Lily?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. Chrys scared him, especially when the man already seemed angry. The Viking seemed to grow angrier at Harry's question. Harry felt his eyes grow as it occurred to him who Lily must be. The first rule of Number Four dissolved like a slug under salt. "Is that my mother's name? Did you know her? Did you also know my father? What was his name? Did they—"

"What was that last question?" Holly asked after it became clear that Harry was not going to complete the sentence. Harry didn't answer. His fingers nervously picked at a loose thread on the blanket and Harry refused to raise his eyes from the white expanse of the bed. Holly leaned forward and cupped his chin. With gentle pressure, she forced his head to rise. His eyes sought out her tea-colored eyes. "Harry, what was the last question?"

"Did they love me?"

The words were quiet, but Harry might have screamed them if the sudden silence in the room was any indication. Holly's eyes grew moist, which darkened them. She let go of his chin to open her arms, signaling her request for a hug. Harry hesitated only a half a moment before flinging himself the short distance. Holly helped by pulling him closer to her heart. He hadn't realized how scared and unsettled he was by all the events of the day until he felt the fear melt beneath the warmth of his angel's embrace.

"I knew both your parents," Holly told him as she smoothed his hair. "They didn't drink much, let alone enough to be constantly drunk. Lily and James put a considerable amount of effort into your conception and fought hard to keep you. I don't think I've ever seen either of them happier than the day you were born. I promise you, Harry, they loved you."

At those words, Harry shattered. He wept. He cried for every lonely night that he could remember. He cried for every hour he spent locked in the dark. He cried for every time he tried to gain Aunt Petunia's favor only to be slapped away like he was covered in filth. He cried for every missed meal, no matter how justly deserved. He wept, never knowing that the quiet sobs were breaking the hearts of those who were listening to him. All through his breaking, Holly held him tight and hummed a lullaby to him.

"Does Petunia ever talk about her family?" Chrys asked after Harry had cried himself back to peace. Harry weakly shook his head. Holly gave his arm a stroke. "So you don't know that she and your mother had a brother?" Harry's breath hitched slightly at the thought. Why was he left with the Dursleys if that was true?

"You're lying," Harry accused, lifting his head from Holly's shoulder to glare at the man. Chrys was easily a quarter of a meter taller than Uncle Vernon and just as easily more fit, but Harry didn't fear him. His hero and his angel would protect him. That's what heroes and angels _do_. They protect little boys from scary bearded men. "That's not nice. You shouldn't lie."

"It's true," Chrys affirmed. His green eyes seemed to glint like Aunt Petunia's diamonds. Those eyes seemed familiar to Harry, but he couldn't place where he had seen them previously. "They have a brother. Petunia cut ties with both him and Lily shortly before her marriage to Vernon. There was a lot of anger involved, and things were said…on both sides. Our parents had just died, and we were hurting."

"You're _lying_," Harry accused again. "If you were really my uncle, why haven't you checked on me? Why didn't you—you're lying." His breath was catching in his throat and he felt like he would start to cry again. Harry couldn't truly deny the words. He had seen those eyes in the mirrors at the school. "You have to be lying. Why would you say something like that?"

"Harry, I am your uncle," Chrys confirmed. Harry's bottom lip trembled as fresh tears began to fall from his eyes. He pressed a fist against his aching heart and used the other one to hold onto Holly. Those words, and the abandonment they represented, hurt worse than any beating that he received from his uncle.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why now? Why did you never come to see me—to see if I was alright? Why are you telling me this? What does it even matter?" The words left Harry in a rush. He knew he was dangerously close to another breakdown. He also felt like throwing a tantrum worthy of Dudley being denied a treat. "Why are you hurting me? Is it because I'm a freak?"

"You are not a _freak_," Chrys said, his voice menacing enough that Harry cut off the automatic denial with a click of his teeth. The large man sat on the bed across from Holly. Harry had to turn around to keep him in sight. "You have magic, just as your parents before you. That is no more freakish than having green eyes or blond hair. It is just another part of you."

"There's no such thing as magic," Harry said automatically.

"Oh, really," Chrys replied with dark humor. "So I suppose that you have never had anything unusual happen around you—and don't use the word _freak_. Do not even dare to describe it using that word." Harry shut his mouth without saying the words that he had been taught to say automatically by his aunt and uncle. "That was Petunia's word for Lily's magic. She has always been hateful about it, from the very first time Lily made her dolls dance. Lily was…Lily was a blessing. Her heart was so big, and she was so passionate about things. Every part of her was good. She was the best of us."

"If she was so good, then why did she drive drunk? Or get into a car with my father who was drunk?"

"Harry, remember when I told you that your parents loved you?" Holly asked recapturing Harry's attention. She looked from him to Chrys, her eyes full of a question that Harry didn't understand. Chrys seemed hesitant to give her the approval she sought from him. Finally, he gave a small tight nod and Holly gave him a matching smile. "Your parents did not die in a car wreck. They were killed by a very mean man. You were the only survivor. We were told that you had died as well."

"That's why you didn't come?" The question came out sounding more plaintive than Harry had intended, but no one commented on it. Holly cupped his face again, this time pulling him in to place a fruit-scented kiss on his forehead. Harry's eyes shut of their own volition at the breath warming his scar. "Why would someone tell you that?"

"I don't know, baby," Holly replied, tucking his head against her shoulder again. Harry struggled not to cry again. "I just don't know."

"Harry, you are most likely going to be living with the Evanses from now on," Lark explained gently. Harry looked at her in shocked confusion. That was not what was supposed to be happening!

"But what about you? Why can't I go with you? I promise that I'll be good. You won't even know that I'm there. Please? _Please_? I promise not to do anything freakish. I'll be quiet. I _swear_."

"Oh, ducky," Lark sighed. She opened her arms and Harry scrambled into them. Her hands rubbed his back in little circles before she gave it a short series of pats. With gentle pressure, she pulled him far enough back that he could look her in the eyes. "I can't take you home with me. I can only find you another place to stay. It has nothing to do with you doing anything, freakish or otherwise."

"Is it because you're a—" Harry cut off his words. He looked between the Evanses and Lark before continuing. "Is it because you're a you-know-what?"

"I actually don't know," Lark dryly remarked. Harry's face flushed as he mumbled his answer to her. "Do not mumble, ducky. If you can't be proud of your words, don't say them at all. However, I will answer you. While I am proud that you have likened me to Captain Britain, I am not a superhero. I'm a caseworker with Social Services. It's my job to check on children whom people have reported as possibly being in danger and remove them as necessary. I also find them alternative placements, like I have found the Evanses for you."

"Then why do you have a secret identity?"

"Oh," Lark breathed. She looked at the Evanses for a moment. Then she searched out Harry's eyes again. With careful motions, she reached into her shirt and pulled out her necklace. Unlike Dr. Thomas' pendant, this star was free-standing. The circle that encompassed the interwoven stars had tiny stones embedded in it. Each section between points had seven of the tiny crystals arranged in their rainbow order. At the tip of each point was a tiny white crystal. Harry didn't need to touch it to feel the energy with which it quietly pulsed. That didn't stop his fingers from itching to trace the pattern. "Do you know what this is, Harry?"

"Dr. Thomas said it was a symbol of his faith," Harry replied, hypnotized by the steady beating he felt from the pendant. "A promise on it is one to his god and goddess. I like yours better, Miss Lark. It's prettier."

"Thank you, ducky," Lark replied. Unseen by Harry, the adults shared another look. "It is, indeed, a symbol of my faith. Do you know what a vow is?" Harry gave her a nod, only half paying attention as he brought one hand up to touch the thing that had captivated him so much. "I took vows to serve my goddess. When I did, I took a new name to represent me more fully before Her. It is a name to mark me as Hers. I use it in my dealings. It's not supposed to be shared except to others who follow Her or in sacred space. Do you understand?"

"So I shouldn't use it?"

"That is correct, Harry."

"And I can't come stay with you?"

"Sorry, Harry, but no, you can't."

"But you'll save me again, right? If I need you?"

"Always, Harry," Lark replied. She gave him a kiss on the forehead, right on his horrid scar. Harry shivered at the tingle that resulted. Lark turned her head to the side so that her cheek pressed against the lightning bolt. "I will _always_ save you whenever you need it, ducky."


End file.
